


Barrière d'Enfer

by AdrenalineRevolver



Series: Les Monsters AU [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Character Turned Into Vampire, Combeferre copes with trauma via being a nerd and worrying about friends, Enjolras Has Feelings, Gen, Good Friend Combeferre, Horror, Joly is Ignaz Semmelweis before Ignaz Semmelweis, Stabbing, Vampires, but not a huge amount of horror, lets get spoopy up in here, possibly the start of a whole alternate universe, sort of character death?, straight up murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-09 12:50:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16450292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdrenalineRevolver/pseuds/AdrenalineRevolver
Summary: Combeferre has a run-in in an alley on his way to a meeting that ends up with him dead. Sort of. How will he cope with this development?





	1. Chapter 1

Combeferre could scarcely remember details of the attack itself; perhaps it was the trauma involved. Three men had him cornered in an alley. They wanted something from him. Money, he supposed. He tried to speak to them, and then there was a knife in his stomach. He had tried to appeal to the youngest among them. Perhaps it was because he hoped he wouldn't be as hardened but in reality it was likely because of the person he called to mind. Even as the young man watched him bleed on the ground he made Combeferre think of Enjolras. The sense of wit in how he conducted himself, the undeniable beauty, barely contained anger threatening to creep in at any moment. It was like a poisoned reflection of one of his closest companions. 

“P-Please...” What could he even ask of him? Combeferre knew these wounds would kill him. 

Perhaps it was the fact that he was still trying or it could have simply been that he hadn’t wanted his victim to be dead yet but the youngest of his attacker’s bright red lips quirked into a smile. “You won’t like the price.” 

“I’ll pay.” Forcing out the words was more difficult than he could imagine. 

His beautiful features lit up with interest, seeming to realize something that Combeferre didn't yet know. “Yes you will.” 

That and a thick smell of perfumes were the last things Combeferre could remember before he lost consciousness. At some point there was a gripping, searing pain. It was as if hell itself had been injected into him. Was it an acid to make disposing of his body easier? Was his body being drained for study? The implications of the later chilled him to the bone. Was he dead and this what the afterlife was? 

“If you scream and someone finds this place I will kill you, child.” A voice whispered. It sounded feminine in origin but not natural. She sounded young but he somehow knew better, how he knew he couldn’t be sure. He also knew to do exactly as she said.

He didn’t let himself make a single sound. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When he woke he was alone, in a matter of speaking. 

Along the walls were the bones of thousands that had come before him. In this room alone he had at least a hundred pairs of unseeing skulls staring at the alter he had been laid on. 

Someone had brought him into the catacombs, but to what end? They hadn’t simply disposed of his body among the others. They kept him alive somehow.

Where was the woman and why did he so desperately want to speak to her despite her obvious threat against his life? He wanted her advice. Her orders. Orders? Had he lost his mind? 

And where were his wounds?

Stumbling towards the entrance of the alcove he found a rather gruesome sight, or rather one he knew should be, a guardsmen had been murdered and his coats torn open. He couldn’t bring himself to feel the revulsion he knew he should be feeling. It must be his exhaustion. The dead man had the words “Exit normally and be destroyed.” carved into his chest. 

Ah, so he wasn’t to leave through a normal exit. Difficult however he’d studied a map of the mine that used to be here before. He could alwa-

His thoughts were cut short when he noticed a drop of blood dripping down from the X carved into the man. Suddenly he was so cripplingly hungry. 

He seemed to have no real control over himself as he instinctively bit into the throat of the rapidly cooling body and drained it. He could only watch himself in horror as the blood rushed into his mouth and prayed for any sensation but the overwhelming rightness. It was the first moment he felt alive since he had awoken. 

When there was finally nothing left to drain from the dead man Combeferre flung himself away from the body and desperately shoved his fingers down his throat as if getting rid of the blood inside of him would change what he was. What he knew he had become. Of course his body would not obey him. It just stubbornly felt stronger, warmer, closer to the way it had before he entered that god-forsaken alley. 

It all began to click into place. The searing pain had been the venom changing him, killing him, healing him. The woman was his creator of sorts; there must be some sort of instinctual desire to appease them and seek them out for help. Not unlike a child. He supposed that made sense, as the undead would likely have trouble procreating any other way. Then the blood…would he always react this way? His creator hadn’t reacted this way seeing, as she was the one who likely left him the food- the man. 

The man. This was a living person killed to sustain him. He couldn’t allow himself to forget that just because he did what he did.

The price. This had been the price. Something far more dear than money.

A part of him wanted to stay down here where he could be sure he wouldn’t hurt anyone. A part of him wanted to take the exit he was told would get him destroyed. He may kill an innocent. Perhaps many. He had no way to tell what his reaction to a living human would be.

In the end it was the reminder that his friends would come looking for him that pushed him further into the catacombs looking for a more secluded exit. Enjolras, in all his then uncontrolled, righteous fury would openly war against the church itself to avenge Combeferre and he knew Courfeyrac would be terrified by the prospect but die by the blonde’s side anyway, as would the others. 

They already tread dangerous ground and he didn’t want to be the catalyst for his friends’ deaths.

Although, as he waded through the murky waters of the catacombs he had to admit that the idea of Enjolras as a twisted Joan of Arc like figure seeking to start a holy war against the church on behalf of a vampire was a bit amusing. As inspiring as he can be he might even make some headway. 

Man would burn him just the same. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He’s unsure of how long he’s been in the catacombs when he finally makes his way out. Mercifully, it seems to be dusk. Though he’s not entirely sure what would happen if it weren’t. Time is impossible to keep accurately in the catacombs however the blood on his stomach had already oxidized by the time he woke up and that takes around an hour. Dusk rarely lasts half that long. He’s missing at least a day. 

He all but holds his breath as he sneaks his way back to his flat. He knows he looks like death incarnate however if someone stops him he’s afraid he’ll meet his or her kindness with a swift end. Thankfully, the few people he does pass are preoccupied enough that they don’t notice him slink by in the alleys. He can't help but be concerned though when he realizes that another could be in dire need and simply passed by. He should mention this apathy if he ever is able to attend another meeting. 

To his horror his flat seems to be unlocked. His heart aches for the thief that might meet their death. His heart outright breaks when he steps inside and hears someone call his name. He may be his friend’s end after all. 

“Combeferre! Thank goodness, first you a meeting we and then classes we-“ Enjolras has dark circles under his eyes from worrying about him however the worry very quickly shifts to rage when he sees the dried blood covering Combeferre’s stomach and how pale he suddenly seems to have become. His intensity is almost physical and present in the room with them; it’s moments like these that Combeferre can completely understand Grantaire’s more poetic drunken tirades. Instead of the normal mild concern and anticipation he finds the blonde’s all encompassing fury to be the grandest comfort he could have wished for. Combeferre almost forgets what a danger he may be if he loses his concentration.

“Who did this to you? Are you still bleeding?” Enjolras gets entirely too close to guide him to a chair but pauses for a moment when he’s right upon him. “Is it yours?” The tone is entirely too soft for Enjolras not to have noticed something. Had he been walking around Paris with fangs? He touches his lips to check and feels nothing, a relief to be sure, but Combeferre is still unsure how to answer. 

“I don’t know.” Is all he can manage to offer, perhaps it doesn’t count as his anymore. 

“Alright, if you’re uninjured then I’ll go make you a bath. A letter arrived for you while you were missing.” Enjolras hands him the letter before hurrying to the kitchen without another word.

Normally he felt prepared for his friend’s occasional odd behavior but this had thrown him for a loop. All of that righteous indignation had just vanished because of what, the possibility that Combeferre had killed someone? He wants to question Enjolras about it however he’s in no position to do so. It would only open himself to more questioning.

At least there was the bath to look forward to. One of the few good things resulting from Joly’s persistent hypochondria was his insistence that Americans were completely in the right about bathing often being worth the risks and his insistence that Combeferre use a decent portion of his savings on a tub. He had yet to notice any of the neigh magical properties that Joly mentioned but it was rather relaxing. He pushes the assertion Joly once made to him after class that he believed that surgeons should clean their hands with wine between tending to patients aside, he has enough to worry about at the moment without remembering that his friend is at risk of institutionalization if he isn’t careful. 

Combeferre sat down and noticed that the unopened letter only had “Child” written on it in dark red ink. Immediately his heart quickened, and it only continued to at the realization that he still had a beating one. Inside it read:

>   
>  Child,
> 
> If you are reading this then you survived both your turning and your escape. Congratulations. If you wish to continue to survive you will avoid the following:  
>  Holy symbols carved with intent  
>  Ingesting Wolfsbane  
>  Weapons of silver  
>  Obvious threats such as decapitation  
>  Average humans do not understand the conditions with which many things harm. A cross holds no power unless it is made to harm you. Wolfsbane cannot be waved around like a rune. A necklace of silver means nothing while a cut from a silver blade will take ages and the blood of many men to heal.  
>  Feed often but carefully. Tuberculosis and rabies will cause you to purge everything in your system and leave you weak.  
>  Creatures can be a substitute for a time, should you have issue finding a human target. Do not dally if you do not wish to kill. Your target will return to you if you leave them alive, as my lineage is a kind one. You could enthrall them if you like.  
>  The sun will not harm you but it will make you weak, humanly. Perhaps you would enjoy this. I do not prefer it.  
>  You do not need to breathe as often as humans do should the need arise and sleep will not evade you if you wish to avoid hibernation. I do not like the vulnerability of a bed however young ones may.  
>  Should you seek out other abilities you may find them in time but they will take practice.  
>  Men of the church and those with the sight will be of great threat to you. Holy men will want you dead regardless of what you have or have not done and those who can truly see will not be charmed by the glamour bestowed on you.  
>  I will contact you again in time, do not fret. 
> 
> -Madame  
> 

He wanted to be frustrated by the lack of name and general lack of detailed information but hearing from her was enough to push that to the periphery. Damn these instincts. At least he could in theory keep up with his studies.

If he can substitute creatures from time to time could he just purchase blood from a butcher? Something in him shivered at the idea of drinking blood that had been dead that long but he could become accustomed to it if he forced himself. 

Then for actual targets if that substitute provided him some control he could slip into bars near closing and only take a little from a great many patrons. Not enough to cause them harm but enough to sustain himself.

There was also the prospect of sneaking into a hospital and the results of a bloodletting procedure if he was willing to risk it. 

Perhaps Combeferre could actually succeed in living this way without killing another. Perhaps he could even study this, learn more about this affliction and even find a cure. Joly could even assist him.

“Combeferre? The bath is ready.” Enjolras called from the other room.

Ah right, yes. First he has to get through the evening without ripping his dear friend’s throat out. Perhaps it was time to test how rarely he had to breathe as Madame had mentioned.


	2. Catacombs Follow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An investigation of sorts and a discovery of another.

As it turned out cleaning ones self and holding your breath were surprisingly difficult to do at the same time. Enjolras had gone into Combeferre’s bedroom to allow him privacy but the man didn’t entertain the idea of leaving for the night. Combeferre would have found his concern and his steadfast loyalty heartwarming if it weren’t a potential threat to his life. 

Combeferre did his best to drown out his worries by inspecting himself now that he had the opportunity to do so. 

He seemed to be a shade paler than before, nothing blatantly obvious but perhaps enough that some might think him ill if they had known him prior. Having heard descriptions of vampires in more than one folktale being as pale as a corpse he expected that it was variable. Perhaps it had something to do with recently having…fed.

His nails were a touch inconvenient now. They appeared normal however when he gripped something they grew sharp. Not unlike a cat’s paw extending it’s claws to hold its prey. He would need to be careful when touching others lest these new additions do as they’re intended.

Realizing that might apply elsewhere he presses his finger to the roof of his mouth. His incisors grow longer and sharper at the pressure. Ready at a moment’s notice should he need them. No wonder the changing had been so painful and drawn out, he grew new muscle and bone structure.

An enhanced grip, hidden fangs, and Madame had mentioned something about the ability to charm in her letter; it painted a grim picture of his biologically intended hunting strategy. Lure them in with the promise of something and then refuse to let go, not unlike a sundew with humans as his flies. 

Thinking back on the letter there had been mention of lineage. Other vampires being descended from different lines having separate inherited strategies would explain why stories of what they’re like vary so wildly.

Some legends depict vampires as seductresses who you would gladly trade your soul to be with, Combeferre is tempted to laugh at the realization that he’s very likely in that category, while others say they are monstrous brutes who can scarcely be recognized as ever having been human. 

He had a faint scar from the initial wound on his stomach and one on his neck from what was likely the bite but he was otherwise unscathed from the entire ordeal. Well, as far as wounds go.

What had tipped off his friend? Having seen his eyes in the side of the tub he knew there had been no apparent change. Truly he didn’t seem very different. 

Perhaps Enjolras was one of those that could see certain things? That couldn’t be. Even if for some reason Enjolras had felt he needed to keep that from him there would be no way he wouldn’t be able to react to the things he saw. He was simply too expressive. 

Too rightfully concerned with morality rather than reputation. His friend would have been locked away for telling the truth. 

He may have to ask, if not simply for his own protection. 

Besides, he would have needed to tell Enjolras of this eventually. 

Combeferre tries to push away the nagging fear that Enjolras won’t take it well. It simply won’t go away. He weighs what he knows to be in his favor and against:

He has yet to hurt Enjolras or any other. That can lessen any fear. 

Enjolras has mentioned his relationship with the church being complicated. That shows he won’t immediately assume him damned.

The two have known each other for years. He knows how much he trusts Enjolras and how that’s assuredly returned.

He would be gone otherwise. Enjolras is pragmatic. Surely he will see being undead as superior than dead. 

However there’s still an unknown human element, as well as an unknown non-human element. Enjolras could have been attacked by a vampire and never mentioned the encounter fearing disbelief or that it was some sort of hallucination. He himself could lose control and at best scare Enjolras away. 

Christ, if he was even permitted to evoke him, this was stressful. He was attempting to avoid further stress in the first place. Perhaps it was best to go ahead and dry off. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

What Combeferre sees when he enters his bedroom stops him in his tracks. For years there has been a crack in his window’s shutters, he never minded it as it ensured that he would wake up on time for his classes.

Enjolras is attempting to fix it. Enjolras the man with no real knowledge of repairs and no real interest in fixing things that weren’t completely unusable, was attempting to fix the relatively small crack in his window’s shutters. 

He wasn’t doing a tremendous job however he wasn’t making the situation worse. For the most part he seemed to be alternating between dripping wax from a candle on the crack and burning himself. Each time he does he curses quietly but goes back to the same slow process. 

After staring with a mixture of shock and affection, and a little bit of horror for Enjolras’ lack of gloves, Combeferre risks speaking. “You’re aware.” Combeferre’s voice is quiet, a touch apprehensive just in case this was some mad attempt on Enjolras’ part to cure himself of boredom. 

Enjolras jumps a bit and thankfully manages to keep from dropping the candle. When he looks over he seems to for once be unsure of what to say. “It would hurt you.” He gestures to the shutter with his head. 

Combeferre is tempted to run up and hug him but the flash of his neck reminds him that that’s too much of a risk. Instead he smiles and does Enjolras the kindness of not asking him the thousands of questions he wishes to. If Enjolras had felt comfortable explaining he would have, it would need to wait. He would just need to take this acceptance. “Thank you.”

Enjolras sets the candle down in its holder before walking over and putting a hand on Combeferre’s arm. “You are my friend. I dare say my brother. This does not change that. Though I do suppose it means you’ll be rather afraid if I hug you doesn’t it?”

He puts his hand on Enjolras’ as a compromise. “I’m astonished you would want to.”

Enjolras flashes him a genuine smile. “Days ago I thought I had lost one of the dearest people in the world to me. Hours ago I discovered that few things in the world could ever take him away now. That and he is now aware of the plight of all of France’s people, not just her humans.” Knowing Enjolras he’s deathly serious however he still laughs. 

Combeferre laughs as well and he realizes it’s the first time he’s laughed since he was bitten. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thankfully, after Enjolras was sure that the sun wouldn’t accost him in the morning and that he was truly all right with it he relented and agreed to come back and check on him in the early morning. 

He slept fitfully. In his first dream it was Enjolras watching him bleed on the ground. There was no price here. Just Enjolras watching him die. Slowly it began fading into another, far worse, nightmare. 

He had Enjolras pinned to the floor of the catacombs as he begged. 

“P-Please…my brother.” His eyes were wide with fear, a fear Combeferre knew he had put there. 

Combeferre couldn’t stop himself from biting down into his victims’ neck. The taste was so heavenly that he scarcely noticed Enjolras’ screams and desperate attempts to push him away.

He drank. He drank and drank until his friend stopped screaming. He drank until he stopped moving. He drank until there was no more. 

When he finally pulled away the body below him was a skeleton, nearly identical to the others lining the walls save for the final scream it’s jaw was frozen in. 

Combeferre didn’t awake with a start; he never quite did if he was unfortunate enough to have such horrible dreams. Instead his eyes opened slowly and he laid still as he tried to force his breathing to go back to a normal rate.

After a few moments he glanced towards the shutter. He wished it wasn’t repaired. A childish wish he knew however he couldn’t help the thought. 

He also wished he was selfish enough to have permitted Enjolras to stay. Seeing him alive after such a thing…

Eventually Combeferre rose and made his way to his desk. He would have no more sleep tonight. If he were lucky enough to be able to fall back asleep he would only see the catacombs again. 

He might as well make use of this time. He resolved himself to catalogue the effects of vampirism as no one else seems to have done so in a remotely scholarly way. 

Perhaps it was just a distraction but Combeferre wasn’t about to turn down the challenge anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry Combeferre, happy halloween though.


	3. Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only one or two more bombshells for Combeferre.

Combeferre was almost surprised with how quickly things fell back into a similar sort of routine. 

He caught back up on his school work right away. Then of course his work for the meetings, however the first actual meeting after his turning had been a worry. Bahorel wasn’t exactly careful with himself and had been known to walk into the Musain bloodied after a fight. It would also be just Bossuet’s luck to develop a nosebleed for no reason. 

Combeferre had forced himself to drink the uncomfortably cold pig’s blood he’d gotten from the butcher until he simply couldn’t continue. It was like eating a meal long after you’ve allowed yourself to forget it was getting cold. Though it being unappetizing was part of the plan. 

He then carefully applied peppermint oil under his nose and to his wrists. The smell was dizzyingly strong, however, it would serve to block out the scent of human. He brought it along just in case. 

Enjolras didn’t seem very concerned at all, after making sure that Combeferre felt up to it he fell right into talking about his plans for the evening. Plans which included arriving a bit later than usual to ensure that the sun had set before they were forced to leave his flat. 

Seeing him so impassioned was enough to help push the nightmare from Combeferre’s mind. What he had seen was simply the manifestation of all of his worries. This was his reality, his friend knew of his condition and was continuing on as if there had been no change. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When they had approached the Café Enjolras paused. 

“I warn you, they’ve been told you’re returning however they’ll likely rush you all the same. They were worried.” 

“Thank you, I’m sorry I caused so much concern.”

“You don’t need to be sorry in the slightest. You did nothing wrong.” 

Combeferre smiles at his seriousness and heads inside. 

The moment they enter the back of the Musain there’s an uproar. Someone’s arms are soon around his neck. Jehan it would seem by his dark clothing had resigned himself to Combeferre’s death and had been in mourning when he walked in. To him he was quite literally back from the dead. The irony would have the man thrilled where he not so upset. It would likely be overwhelming had he not taken so many precautions.

Another is clasping him by the shoulder and gently shaking him. Courfeyrac smiled at him quietly and simply stayed close. Soon he can make out a more coherent shouted conversation.

“I told you he was fine, too smart to die in some gutter. Now buy me that drink you owe me!” Grantaire tossed a wine cork over the crowd and it expertly hit the top of Bahorel’s head. 

“You’ll have it when I find out what in the hell happened!” The man seemed to have the good sense to try to wave the already tipsy man off.

Enjolras had already caught it however. “You had bets on his fate?” 

Combeferre decided to step in before there was an actual death. “Different people deal with stresses in separate ways. Some like to downplay them and make light until it no longer feels so dreadful. A touch disrespectful it may be but I don’t doubt they were comforted.” 

“Yeah different ways!” Mischief played across Grantaire’s eyes and Enjolras met it with a glare but he let it be.

“What..what happened then?” Joly looked a mix between excited and petrified. Combeferre could swear he was staring through him. 

“Well it is a bit of a long gruesome tale.” To test his rapidly forming theory Combeferre carefully untangled Jehan from him and undid his cravat in order to supposedly readjust it. The wound left from the bite that had turned him had long since healed and the scar was too faint to be seen however if-

Joly’s hand quietly flies to his mouth but he makes no other sound. So Joly can ‘see’ things. That explained quite a lot actually. Combeferre only begins to realize that this was indeed a tremendous risk to take for a curiosity. To his credit Joly tries to recover almost immediately. 

“W-well I’m sure we can handle whatever it is. Besides when you catch something it will be important to know. “

“Keep in mind that you were warned.” Combeferre leaned against the table and finished re-tying his cravat before telling them what had happened. It was sanitized of his transformation, of course. All they were told was that he was mugged, injured, and that one of his attackers took pity upon him and brought him to the catacombs to be healed. Only there must have been a struggle as he awoke to a dead guardsmen and a warning not to exit out the main way. 

They were of course mortified for him, though Jehan was enthralled at the idea of exploring the catacombs even if it meant being lost, and alternated between praising his quick thinking in the catacombs or bluffing about what they would have done in the situation. Even though it was only scraps of the truth it felt wonderful. 

Not to be completely sentimental but it made him feel like making it to his flat was only a step to returning home, going to the back room of this café was actually returning home. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

His classes were harder than the meetings. They were during the day which proved to be a minor annoyance and any dissection was one temptation after another. It was Joly that offered him solace. 

“Forgive me, I can’t remember the term for it however I’ve heard of this horrible affliction in which the affected is just so sensitive to smells. Bread baking halfway across a town, tobacco ash on a man’s coat from three days ago they can smell it all decently well. It’s relatively more common in pregnant women however men are sometimes born afflicted with it or develop it. It can be so overwhelming when presented with something disgusting, like a dead body.” Joly then grinned. “It’s a shame you developed it after your kidnapping, you’ll need to warn our lecturers in case you have to run out of the class.” 

Combeferre smiled warmly. “Thank you, and thank you for not panicking when I showed you that I had been bitten.”

“Oh no I definitely panicked.” He laughed. “I’m just used to the idea that I can’t say what’s really there or at least I try not to.”

“You do a good job at hiding your ability, I had no idea.” Combeferre perhaps had a bit of an idea.

“Same for you. The only other vampire I’ve ever seen was a near-feral mess. Then again he was aware that I’d seen him and had no real reason to want to keep me in one piece.” Joly shivered at the memory

“How did you escape?” Combeferre glanced at Joly’s cane and wondered if he used it as a weapon or a running aid.

“Ran like hell for a crowded area. From bits and pieces that I’ve picked up both the church and other vampires police being exposed to large crowds. If you’re not killed by the church another vampire will kill you for being too dangerous to the rest of them.”

“Did Enjolras tell you this?” 

“No, I just picked it up from the occasional drunken witch. Why was he bitten? He didn’t look like it.” A look of concern washed over Joly as he worried that he had missed Enjolras being bitten as well.

Combeferre took a moment to process the certainty with which Joly had just stated that witches and thus witchcraft was real; he supposed it would be hypocritical to deny them. “Well no but he found out that I was before you did.”

“Strange, he could be a Seer like me. He could also be any number of things, lord knows we’re running low on humans in the Les Amis de l’ABC.”

“We are?” They were? 

“I cannot say. Physically. A minor curse was involved after I startled someone. You’ll need to poke around.” They would have to find a way to reverse that eventually. 

“I will, thank you again for the excuse.” At least classes should be easier now.

“You’re quite welcome.” Joly grinned. 

Well now he must find out who is what and without ending up on the receiving end on the same curse as Joly.

Perhaps things were not completely routine, but they were similar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next we will find out whats up with Courf while Combeferre is trying to put things together in the background.

**Author's Note:**

> Have a wonderful Halloween/Samhain! Might end up expanding this into a larger universe where almost all of the Amis are monsters in some way but I wanted to make sure I got this one out in time for the 31st!


End file.
